


Hickory Dickory Dean

by Carrieosity



Series: Understanding That Reference [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Covid-19 Related, Fluff and Humor, Librarian Castiel (Supernatural), Library storytimes, M/M, Musician Dean Winchester, Quarantine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:28:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23220022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrieosity/pseuds/Carrieosity
Summary: When Castiel's library has to close because of the coronavirus pandemic, the librarians need to get a little creative in order to keep serving the community. Castiel has no problem recording virtual storytimes, but when it comes to adding in songs and things, he needs to call in a little extra help.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Understanding That Reference [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/517054
Comments: 19
Kudos: 243
Collections: Lock Down Fest, SPN Quarantine Hits





	Hickory Dickory Dean

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, my library is closed.  
> Yes, this is based on real life.  
> Why, yes, I am uploading videos of myself doing storytimes, playing songs and singing and generally looking silly for the good of all those parents trapped at home with their kids and slowly going nuts over the isolation.

It was the booming roll of thunder that woke Dean, not any kind of alarm clock or even the sound of a running shower as his fiance began his regular morning routine. And that, of course, was because there was no longer any sort of morning routine.

 _About the only upside of this whole pandemic business,_ Dean thought as he yawned and stretched without opening his eyes. _Nobody gives a shit if you wear pajama pants all day or sleep til noon._ He flopped an arm blindly behind his back, expecting to find Castiel, whose natural state was night owl and who had taken to an alarm clock free existence like a duck to water. Instead, Dean found an empty space and sheets that were cool to the touch.

Brow furrowed, Dean blinked away the sleep from his eyes, squinting at the screen on his phone where it lay on his bedside table. The time it showed had him frowning even more deeply in puzzlement. “Cas?” he croaked hoarsely. There was no response, other than the distant growl of another thunderclap and the patter of rain on the window glass. 

_Well, he can’t have gone far._ Dean rolled out of the bed, shivering slightly before he got his robe snugly wrapped around his shoulders. The robe was certainly seeing more use than usual, since he and Castiel had been housebound, isolating themselves and waiting out the nasty virus. First the library had closed, sending Castiel home; then the garage had cut hours and gone to servicing emergency cases only. The bar had been closed next, cut to takeout orders only, by government order, and finally both Bobby and Ellen had told Dean to just stay home completely. They’d reassured him that his job would still be there when he came back, that he was family, and family took care of each other, so he wasn’t _precisely_ worried yet. It was still scary, though. 

Castiel wasn’t in the kitchen, but he had been through there, as evidenced by the half-drunk pot of coffee and the washed cereal bowl in the sink drainer. He wasn’t in the living room, either, or in the second bedroom-turned-office. Dean was beginning to feel baffled when he noticed that the basement door was slightly ajar. Opening it the rest of the way, he heard Castiel’s low voice: “...and then the third little pig said, ‘Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin.’” 

“The pig on steroids or something?” Dean teased, walking down the steps. Lowering his voice to Castiel’s deep baritone, he growled, “‘Not by the five o’clock shadow on my chinny-chin—”

“Dean,” Castiel cut in, looking up at him in exasperation. “I was recording.” He unfolded his long legs from their pretzeled position, kneeling up so that he could tap at the screen of the tablet facing him, pausing the recording.

Dean lifted an eyebrow, smirking in entertainment. “You were recording,” he repeated. “The Three Little Pigs? What, did cabin fever get to you before the virus could?”

“No, but Linda’s sick.” Before Dean could feel mortified at his callousness, Castiel added, “Not corona, just bad allergies or something. Her doctor isn’t concerned, but she’s miserable and definitely not up to going on camera for storytimes.”

“Which leaves…” Dean said, and Castiel nodded glumly.

The library might have closed, but that did not, apparently, mean that the librarians weren’t still working. With the whole town—the whole county, the whole state—trapped at home, Castiel and the rest of the library staff had been tasked with doing everything they could to provide their services digitally instead of in-person. E-book and audiobook streaming services were one obvious solution, and the Ask-a-Librarian email service was seeing traffic that was unheard of before now. The social purpose of the library, though, had to find other ways to transform itself.

“I’m not a children’s librarian,” Castiel lamented. “I’m capable of doing this, but I don’t even have any picture books here at home, and Naomi was very firm about the building doors remaining closed to us, so I can’t go grab any.”

“Hence the fairy tales,” Dean said, nodding. “Hey, nothing wrong with the classics. Sam always did love Jack and the Beanstalk, even before he turned into an actual giant himself.”

“And that’s fine, but I’m no Miss Linda. She turns these old stories into magic, and the children hang on her every word. Not only that, but she does songs, nursery rhymes, fingerplays…You’ve heard me sing, Dean.”

Dean closed his eyes, biting his lip at the mental image of his fiance doing the Hokey Pokey. “That’s…I mean, I’d watch,” he said. The tiny quaver in his voice betrayed the suppressed laughter, and Castiel narrowed his eyes at him before shaking his head in concession.

“While I am certain that any videos I made of that nature would receive plenty of attention, I’m also certain that it’s not attention I’d appreciate,” he said. “My brother would likely manage to get them to go viral.” Castiel leaned back against the wall, drumming his fingers on his knee. Suddenly, he looked up at Dean with renewed determination. “You play guitar,” he said.

“Oh, no,” Dean protested, holding his hands in front of his chest. “No, whatever you’re thinking, you need to stop, right now.”

“Dean, please. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“Or if the alternative wasn’t you, shaking a coffee can filled with dried beans to ‘Old MacDonald.’ Don’t put this on me because you’re too embarrassed.”

Castiel threw up his hands. “I’ll do the videos with you,” he begged. “Just help me? Please? You have a good singing voice, and if we work together, it won’t look nearly so ridiculous as if I attempt this on my own.”

The earnest plea in Castiel’s wide blue eyes had Dean weakening, despite his reluctance. “How many of these do we have to do?” he asked, and Castiel beamed.

* * *

“This is Mister Dean,” Castiel said, smiling gently at the camera as it recorded the two of them. Watching his own face on the display, Dean tried to school his expression into something less awkwardly uncomfortable as he waved, and Castiel’s heart swelled with affection at the sight. “Some of you may have met him when he comes into the library with our dog friends. It’s too bad we won’t be able to see them for a while longer, I know.” _Hmmm, perhaps Gilda would drop off one of the dogs here, if this goes on longer than we think?_ He’d wait to propose that to Dean until later; he’d rather cashed in on any favors he might have been owed.

“Mister Dean is going to help us with some songs,” Castiel went on. “He and I will sing here, of course, and you will sing along at your own homes when you watch this later.” He’d never particularly enjoyed this part of filling in for the youth services librarians, though it was always easier when there was at least an actual group of children in front of him, eager to sing over him, no matter what he sounded like. This…this was different. It was _performing._

Dean was eyeing him, humor making the corners of his mouth twitch. Apparently, Castiel’s own discomfort was helping distract Dean from his doubts. “Yeah, I think they know that,” he murmured. “Kinda the way this works.”

Hopefully with enough subtlety to be overlooked, Castiel elbowed Dean in the side. “How about ‘The Wheels on the Bus’?” he said, smiling in slight challenge. Dean ducked his head and strummed a couple of chords, and they began.

\---

> _We love Mr. Dean! Please do some more!_

> _This is precious. When can we have Mr. Dean at a real storytime, after this is over?_

> _My son has demanded this video on repeat for the past three hours. Can we get some other songs soon? He’s your new biggest fan._

Castiel looked up from the screen, from which he’d been reading aloud the comments on their video. “There are actually a couple of replies to that comment, arguing over who is actually your biggest fan. I think one of them is claiming that title for herself, not her child.”

“Jesus,” Dean muttered, cheeks flaming. The reaction had been ridiculous, considering that it had been just one song they'd uploaded. Three damn chords. He supposed he had gotten a little carried away when he started adding verses about the engine on the bus and how it growled, but Castiel had started cracking up, and how was Dean supposed to resist?

Castiel leaned into him, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder. They were snuggled together on the couch, a warm blanket over their legs. “Should I be jealous? You’re getting actual _groupies._ The mommy crowd has their sights set on you now, I’m afraid. Next, it’ll be flung undergarments and hiding themselves in your backstage dressing room.”

Dean snorted a laugh. “Good thing I’ve only got eyes for one fan,” he said.

Lifting his face to press a kiss onto Dean’s cheekbone, Castiel hummed. “Your _actual_ biggest fan,” he corrected.

* * *

“You are lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry, Clementine,” Dean finished singing, letting the chords ring. Castiel was just watching by this point, too captured to attempt to sing along. In fact, Dean had to clear his throat before he even regained enough focus to quickly close out the video with a goodbye and stop the recording.

“I think that may have been the most moving version of that song that I’ve ever heard,” he commented once he was finished. “Seriously, Dean, where did that come from? You never cease to amaze.”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know. Grandpa used to sing that one, I think. I forgot until I saw it on the list of songs you made.”

Castiel had found himself brainstorming a list of titles after the local parents had clamored loudly for more musical content. Most of the songs that had sprung to mind at first were all under copyright, so he’d needed to search out folk tunes and rhymes. “Well, wherever it was hidden in your brain, I’m glad you unearthed it.”

“Me, too,” Dean said. A fond smile played on his lips. “I know I gave you a hard time about doing this, but I’m sort of glad you pulled me in. For one thing, it’s keeping me from climbing the walls, you know?” Castiel nodded; he did know, indeed. “And for another, it’s bringing back all kinds of old memories, back from when I was a kid.”

“Well, how many of these children listening now are going to grow up remembering those weeks when they couldn’t go out and play with their friends, but you helped fill their days with something besides cartoons and internet games?” Castiel said. 

“Mmm, maybe,” Dean conceded, turning aside the compliment as he packed his guitar back into its case. “This has all got to be over soon, right?”

“I’m sure it will,” Castiel affirmed. “I have to admit, though, that I’ve enjoyed at least one aspect of our enforced solitude. I’ve had you all to myself, storytime parents aside. I’ll miss that.”

“Same here,” Dean said. There was a twinkle of mischief in his eye as he added, “Gonna be hard going back to sex only in the mornings and evenings.” Castiel swatted at his ass, and he ducked out of the way, laughing. “I’m only saying, I was just getting used to mid-afternoon blowjobs! How’m I supposed to give those up now?” Dean evaded another grab, jumping over the back of the sofa and nearly tumbling to the floor as he cackled.

Castiel was laughing hard, as well, too in love with this gorgeous man not to be taken in by the sight of him flushed pink with mirth. “Well, we’re still stuck here for today, at least,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye as he grinned and started walking backward toward their bedroom. “No point in going into withdrawal yet.”

Dean’s answering grin was breathtaking. “You make a very, very good point,” he said, following Castiel through the door and gleefully tackling him onto the bed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Stay healthy, kids. Wash those hands.


End file.
